


Misc HannibalKink Fills

by pyalgroundblz (acidtonguejenny)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Impregnation Kink, M/M, Mpreg, Self-Lubrication, hannibalkink, kinkmeme fills
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:51:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidtonguejenny/pseuds/pyalgroundblz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Contains:<br/>1) I would Rob, Steal, Kill Somebody (mpreg, barely implied cannibalism) R<br/>2) Wet (Alpha/Omega, babyfever) NC-17<br/>3) I was there at the birth (Soulbond AU) PG-13<br/>4) All in meekness yield (omega!Hannibal, alpha!Will) PG-13</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I would Rob, Steal, Kill Somebody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Prompt](http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/1375.html?thread=1171807#cmt1171807): Will is at a crime scene doing his thing when a perp that was previously thought to be long gone attacks him. Will gets away with a minor hit to the stomach, at least that's what everyone thinks. He curls up into a ball of pain. He gets rushed to the hospital where he discovers he is/was pregnant (author's choice if the embryo survives). The rest of the group is trying to figure out who the father is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Ain't That Lovin' You Baby by Jimmy Reed

The man is dragged to the ground by three separate officers, Jack yelling about charges and rotting in lock-up even as he half walks, half jogs over. 

Will crumples to his knees and lists to the side, barely kept upright by one wobbly elbow. He is pale as a sheet, his cheeks gaunt as he sucks in air and fights not to scream. It hurts, god it hurts, more than any measly punch to the stomach should.

"Graham?" Jack says over the cursing suspect. "Graham!"

*

"Did you know you were pregnant? Damn it, Will!" Jack paces at the foot of his hospital bed. Will is silent, still staring, stunned, at his hands, as he had been since the nurse arrived with the folic acid. Distantly, he thinks the answer should be obvious, but he doesn't have the will to tangle with Jack right now. 

Hannibal hadn't served wine with dinner two nights ago. He'd noticed it at the time; Lector's table without the long stem glasses was painfully incomplete, but he'd forgotten to ask after that first bite. 

"He knows," Will says to himself, body tense as he fights not to shake.

"What?" Jack barks.

"Does he look like he knew, Jack?" Katz says, her voice tired and annoyed, verging on insubordinate. Luckily, Jack is distracted, visibly gearing up for part three of his tirade. 

"Will--"

"No, Jack, I didn't know." Will says tiredly, "I wouldn't have been in the field if I'd known." Not exactly true.

"Bullshit." Jack says. 

Will doesn't argue the point, which seems to satisfy Jack for the moment. He returns to his aggravated pacing, mumbling fiercely under his breath. Katz meets Will's eyes and rolls her own.

Minutes later, "I think I hear the nurse coming," Katz says, as she moves away from the door.

It is, in fact, Will's doctor.

He sits, dumb, as the doctor speaks. Congratulations, you're pregnant. You're five weeks along. The baby seems healthy. The baby is unharmed. 

Jack starts up again the moment the doctor leaves, Katz more vocally defending Will now, who doesn't move, or pay them any mind.

Will isn't sure if that was what he wanted to hear.

*

Lecter disappears. Will speaks to him once on the phone before being released from observation, a handful of test results and print outs assuring him of their child's good health crumbled in hand, conversation one-sidedly stilted and awkward. Lecter is as serpentine smooth as ever, concerned in that distant, but intense way of his, and doesn't press Will for details, is easily reassured. 

Will doesn't tell him that he knows, knows Lecter knows, though it's possible Hannibal may deduce the fact for himself. It's hard to imagine making it through a hospital visit without being enlightened as to his current, delicate state. 

But Hannibal doesn't raise the matter, doesn't hint at it, and Will doesn't either.

After being released, driven home by an empathic Dr. Bloom, Will finds that Lecter has vanished. 

His office's answering service refers him to a call menu, which in turn forwards calls to other psychiatrists or hospitals. His home phone likewise goes unanswered, as well as his cell phone. Will can't bring himself to try again for days after the first attempts, wary of what it will look like whenever Hannibal does return, message after message from a unattractively needy bedmate. 

He flounders, grown used to Lecter always being at hand, always answering his calls by the second ring, always willing to break plans, change his schedule. He's spoiled, fat off the attention, and aware of it. All the same, he's left at a loss as to what to do next, so he does nothing. 

Meanwhile he's paranoid about the fit of his shorts, about ever stomach growl and cheeseburger craving and flash of light-headed nausea. 

"So," 

Will stiffens, already sure of Zeller's next words.

Sure enough, "Who's the baby daddy?"

Will feels a burst of fine-edged resentment, and very carefully does not glare.

Katz slaps her case file against the conference table, apparently in exasperation. "Zeller, you unsubtle moron." 

"What? We're all curious. It's not a completely unreasonable question."

"I didn't even know you dated, Will." Price adds, eyeing Katz and seeming reluctant to join in.

Will fights an indigniant sniff. "Jack needs these DNA results," he says, and beats feet. It's a graceless retreat, but he's too angry to care.

"You think maybe he'd have told us if he wanted us to know?" Katz is saying as he draws away.

"I would've sworn the guy was a second-base virgin, okay? And really, I'm still not unconvinced that he conceived immaculately. I wanna know the guy who is crazy enough--or sad enough--to get in Will Graham's pants."

"Brian," Price says chidingly, audibly uncomfortable. 

"Oh shut up, you want to know too. Same for you, Miss Superior."

"That's beside the point!" Katz snaps. 

Will shakes himself, realizing that he's lingered in the hallway, and forces himself to move.

*

When Hannibal returns from wherever he'd gone off to, he does with little fanfare. Will notices his car in the parking lot at headquarters, and minutes later passes him in the hall talking with an unfamiliar profiler. 

"Dr. Lecter," He greets stiffly.

Lecter nods cordially to him, and extracts himself from his conversation with a charming smile.

"Will," He returns evenly, seeming pleased to see him. 

Will doesn't know what to say now, finally faced with him, and swallows uncertainly before resuming his trek to the cafeteria, Hannibal close at his heels. 

"Oh no you don't," Hannibal says, several halls and an elevator later, having determined Will's destination and taken his elbow. "I cannot allow you to eat that tripe."

"I've eaten that 'tripe' plenty of times before." Will says with a slight sneer, eyes flashing. 

Before, Hannibal, do you hear that? I know, now. 

Will feels like several kinds of fool.

Lecter's hand on his arm holds him fast, prevent him from exiting the elevator car until the doors slide serenely closed again. He is studying his face impassively when Will finally looks up. 

"It is different now, than it was before." Hannibal says plainly, long moments later. There is only the usual amount of warmth in his voice, that same unabashed affection that Will had detected was directed at him far too early in their acquaintanceship. 

The way he uses the word places the ball back in Will's court, interpretable in too many different ways. Before we were friends. Before we said certain things. Before Will had left a toothbrush by Lecter's sink.

Will fumes, outmaneuvered and hating it, as well as the significant part of him that only wants to curl against his boyfriend-therapist and let him make sense of everything, return his feet to solid ground. He feels awash without Hannibal's steadiness, his validation, and it hurts to challenge him like this.

But Hannibal _knew_ he was pregnant, who knows how long before he did, and didn't tell him. Doesn't that mean he engineered it, somehow? Planned for it? Even in hindsight Will can't think of anything that should have tipped he himself off, so early along as he was. Still is. How else could Hannibal have known, if he didn't know the night it happened?

No, no no no. Paranoia. Not only that, paranoid delusions. He can picture Alana's face without even trying. 

This is a good thing, Will. Don't ruin it with your own stupid insecurities. 

Will had told himself he had been careful, but more honestly, he had only _meant_ to be. The possibility of pregnancy had never seemed real. Surely someone as sick as he was wouldn't be allowed to carry a child, because surely the universe would shield an innocent from his special brand of depravity.

Likewise there was a feeling about Hannibal that produced an insurmountable disconnect between the idea of him, and children. Surely he was too predatory, too much like art, an animal bred to perfection and sterility. Virile, but not…fertile. 

It seemed beneath him, somehow. Vulgar, even, in a way sex was not.

Will is returned his elbow, Lecter reading his surrender perfectly. 

"I'm tired," Will says, admitting, pleading. He goes willing into Lecter's arms, submerging gratefully in his scent, his warmth.

"Come." Hannibal says against his hair, near his ear as the elevator jolts around them and begins climbing. "Come home. I will take care of you."

Will doesn't quite successfully suppress his sob of relief. 

*

Again, there is no wine. 

Will doesn't really know what to do. Does he want to continue to spar with Hannibal, to trap him in a corner? Without his angry, with only his stress and his doubts, the thought alone of confrontation turns his belly to penitent jelly. Does he comment on the absence? Would it be odd for him not to, though he didn't the first time? He doesn't dare look too obviously at the bare spot where the wine glass would usually be placed, but is just as afraid of not looking at it. 

The lack of stemware dogs him throughout the meal, until, as Hannibal takes away the last course, he nearly grabs for him, desperate for reassurance. 

He can't contain it anymore, sitting in the darkened bedroom, on the edge of the mattress and watching Hannibal's silhouette disrobed. 

He's ashamed by his own weakness and sickness and pathetic, indecisive mind.

"I don't know what to think." He says, voice cracking. "I don't know what to do."

Hannibal shushes him, suddenly there, hands achingly gentle and soft in the dark. They put aside Will's clothing and press him down to bed, petting, assertive. 

"Allow me, then." 

He takes him on his knees, chest pressed along the length of his back, Will's body folded snugly beneath his. He traces the mottled bruising on Will's stomach--or so Will thinks, until the hand drifts to cradle his lower belly, directly over his womb.

It's a gentle touch, he thinks.

Will falls onto his forearms with an inarticulate sob, Lecter following him down, face pressed to the back of his neck and speaking rapid--something, Lithuanian, maybe, because it's no language Will recognizes. 

_You know, you know, you know you know you know…_

*

"What do you mean the suspect is missing?" Will says, cell phone pressed to his ear.

Hannibal stirs next to him, a long form beneath the blankets.

"He somehow got away from his escort on the way to his arraignment." Jack says, before yelling at someone in the background.

Will is still somewhat stunned when he hangs up. 

"Something the matter?" Hannibal says drowsily.

"The suspect has escaped custody." Will hears himself say dully. "He's in the wind."

The mattress shifts beneath as Hannibal sits up, putting a hand to his back and rubbing.

* 

The suspect doesn't show up again, but neither, so far as they can tell, does he kill again.

He _could_ be following the Ripper's example, bunkering down for a few months, a few years, before taking another victim, but Will never sensed that kind of discipline about the man, all hot blood and instant gratification.

Hannibal agrees with him as they discuss it, a month since that gut punch and eating a casual meal in Hannibal's kitchen (casual being two courses and no more than four utensils). 

The main course is huge, fatty burger, made with meat from Hannibal's freezer. "Prepared specially," he'd said with a smile, as he placed the plate in front of Will. "To give you strength."

At some point there had been some unspoken surrender on the matter of the baby. It still hadn't been said aloud-- _we're having a kid_ \--but there was no more verbal sparring around it. Will drives himself to his appointments, marks them on the calendar, thought he saw Hannibal emptying a room, but neither of them speak of it.

"You'll need it."


	2. Wet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Prompt](http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/1375.html?thread=674655#cmt674655): There's a serial killer on the loose, killing alphas. In my head, the killer is an barren omega who rapes these alphas, trying to get pregnant but can't, so he or she kills them when they can't do their 'job' properly. Will emphasizes with the killer, and becomes overwhelmed with the desire to have a baby. He seeks out what he deems is a great father (Hannibal), and basically just starts taking off his clothes, or going into heat, or something.

The dead alpha is sprawled suggestively over industrial carpet, her phallus lying across her hipbone, pulled free of her undergarments. Fluid blots the fabric where a dripping omega had straddled her.

The killer wants to knot, desires to breed with every fiber of their being, seeks reproduction. He or she has sought out three other alphas similar to Anita Lagunas: physically fit, established in their career, healthy and attractive. A perfect mate for any lonely omega.

Baby-fever, the agents had joked, before going silent under Jack's unamused glare. They're more right than they know.

Will can feel it, the killer's consuming need to achieve pregnancy, their utter desperation. It seeps into the crime scenes and soaks through, until Will himself becomes choked up and has to fend off arousal. 

The omega doesn't want to be alone. They want to be claimed, to belong, to cement their position with offspring. He's left each scene increasingly affected, torn between the desire to bend over for the nearest alpha (which usually happens to be Jack, embarrassingly enough), and to suckle some mewling babe.

Standing over Lagunas' body and staunchly studying the wall behind her, Will bites his lips to keep from panting. Wetness runs down his thighs when he moves, and he shakes for desire. His emptiness is painful, a blunt, throbbing ache high in his cunt.

"I have to leave." He says shakily, and clears his throat. Jack nods, studying him, plainly looking for signs of mental distress. Will hopes he's too focused spotting the on the usual giveaways to notice the new ones. 

He drifts past the crime scene attendants in a daze, aware of every alpha he passes like he hasn't been since his last heat, more than a decade ago. 

*

His quasi-fugue state persists for days. Will tries to bring himself off, pumping himself, bending his wrist awkwardly in a mindless attempt to fist himself for something to clench around, but it does nothing but leave him sore and scratched. 

He avoids the office and the school, aware that he's begun to leak pheromones thick enough to turn heads, and wanders.

He ends up in Hannibal's office, shocking the patient inside to silence. Hannibal himself sits frozen, eyes fixed on Will's flushed face, nostrils flared.

"Mr. Glouci, I regret we must end the session here for today." Hannibal intones mechanically. He rises woodenly and herds a dimly protesting Glouci from his office.

Will has already begun to strip, dropping his clothes in a breadcrumb trail leading to Hannibal's recently vacated seat, the leather still warm and smelling of him. Will's wetness virtually drips from him as he curls up against the backrest, nuzzling his face against it and peering through glittering, slitted eyes, watching Hannibal as he smartly bolts the door. 

"Will," He begins, turning slowly. His voice is heady, tightly restrained. "You are overly emphasizing with the Alpha Killer."

Of course he is; that, he'd never questioned, he simply doesn't care anymore. He extends a hand, wrist turned out, and waits for Hannibal to come close enough to take it.

He presses the wrist to his mouth, breathing against the thin skin. His eyes flash.

"You are ovulating." Hannibal says. 

Will kind of thought he was too, but had no way of knowing for certain. To an alpha of Hannibal's strength, though, it would be tantalizingly obvious. 

Will cups the hand around his face and using it, tries to bring Hannibal down to his level, clinging to his clothing and pulling at it pitifully.

"I need you," he whines, pawing ineffectively. Hannibal makes a rough noise low in his throat and rests a knee on the chair, descending on the squirming omega.

"Then you will have me," he growls, capturing Will's hips in a firm hold and dragging him into a more vulnerable position as he swoops in to take his mouth in a gasping, messy kiss, too much air between their lips. Will makes a yelping, surprised noise that melts into a moan as Hannibal rough presses his fingers inside, the slide made effortless by slickness.

"So ready," Hannibal says raggedly, his hips moving in stuttered, aborted thrusts against Will's leg. "How long have you been like this, Will? How long before you came to me?"

He cries by way of answer, unwilling to think of scrambling in the dark, embarrassed and unsatisfied and ashamed, not when Hannibal is so close and solid, when his scent is enough to stop every thought in his too-busy head. "Please, now, please please please…"

Hannibal shushes him, determined to move slowly, despite the fact that he himself is so aroused his hands tremble. He placates with darting kisses and stroking fingers, pressing as deeply as he can reach. 

It's a start, but it's not deep enough. Will feels as if his cervix itches, throbs, out of reach, requiring only a touch to quail it.

"Do you want my child, Will, as the killer does?" Hannibal says, low and breathless against Will's hair. "My get?" 

Will is jerked lower as Hannibal rips off the last of his clothing, tossing the jeans away. The new slump brings his groin into tortuous contact with the front of Hannibal's suit pants, and he rocks, grinds, likely coating the fabric in musky-scented slick. He can't bring himself to feel bad for it.

"Do you, Will?" He says, demanding, insistent as he withdraws the fingers with a swirl that makes him gasp and a squelch. 

"Yes. Yes, I want it!"

"Then we will make use of gravity." Hannibal says, cracked, control fraying as he straightens, pulling Will's hips with him until Will's back is flat to the seat cushion. They fumble with his fastenings together, the slickness on Hannibal's hands adding to the challenge.

When he slides in, fully sheathed in a single, easy movement, Will cries out, eyes prickling warningly. It's perfect, nearly what he needs.

The angle makes it hard to thrust himself, and he only manages to roll his hips awkwardly against Hannibal's, offsetting their rhythm until he's pinned by a firm hand to the shoulder, thumb resting heavily against his throat. Hannibal thrusts with all the strength in his single, standing leg, bracing with the bent knee, knocking the chair backwards across the floor in increments with the power of each jolt.

Will is quite possibly too slick. There is very little friction to be felt, which sets Hannibal growling, rocking harder, seeking his own pleasure. Will doesn't mind the rutting, too taken by the reach of the heavy cock moving in him, willing it to reach the itch deep inside. 

There is pain when it does, a sharp, stab of discomfort, except Will cries for joy of it and stretches up, seeking a second touch. 

"There, there there there," he chants, begging. Hannibal is lost and does not respond, though, fortunately, it only serves his purpose to keep his mate keening and happy, and he lengthens his thrusts, slowing briefly as he aims.

When he strikes Will's cervix again, Will arrests his hips with tightly wrapped legs and holds him against it, grinding to rub the head of his cock over it, delighting in the bright pangs that come.

Hannibal comes with a choked gasp, groaning as he knot swells almost too fast, as if afraid of being late to the party. An exhausted Will trills happily as it plugs him up, trapping that hot, sloshing sensation inside. Hannibal gingerly lowers himself into the chair, curled over Will oddly to keep their groins flush, and is received by demonstratively appreciative omega, awarded with dozens of kisses.


	3. I was there at the birth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Prompt](http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/1847.html?thread=1385783#cmt1385783): So, how would everything turn out in a Soul Mate!AU where Will finds out that Hannibal is the Chesapeak Ripper… at the exact same time he finds out that Hannibal is his One True Match?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Hello Earth by Kate Bush.

When you find your match, they say you both experience a burst of telepathic communication. A rush of thoughts, memories, and images. 

Boarding schools, blood-splattered sisters, and bodies. So very many bodies, more than one of them…familiar.

"You-…You!" Will says, stumbling back as far as he can, with his hand still clasped in Hannibal's as it is. He's not sure in what way he means it, all ways at once probably.

 _My soulmate is a serial killer._ This _is my better half?_

The hand in his is warm with affection and promise and security, because there is no such thing as an imperfect match.

But it is dry, the nails ragged from struggling with--Will sees in a flash--a hotel clerk. It is still as a surgeon's in his, but Will knows now that is only because Hannibal has brought the weight of his will against the tremors that would wrack it. There is fear in his eyes, a quality of lifelessness. Resignation, acceptance, anguish. Will feels each emotion like a chill through his body; Hannibal thinks even his soulmate will forsake him. 

It rattles Will to the core, and when Hannibal moves to draw his hand away, he tightens his grip. "No!"

He thinks quickly, struggling to make an impossible decision. Hannibal is everything Will despises, a criminal, he's _sick_ , but he's--

\-- _mine._

"You will need to decide quickly, Will." Hannibal says tonelessly, turning his eyes away. His knuckles go white around the handle of his case. "Jack and the others will be arriving shortly."

"You left prints." Will says. "Got sloppy. They don't believe it's you, but--"

"Nonetheless, the evidence will lead them to only one conclusion. I must be away." He hesitates, and goes awkwardly silent. Hannibal, awkward--it's surreal. 

Will is abruptly angry, nearly growling. 

He's always found it easier to make decisions while angry.

"Stay here. Play innocent. Come up with a story, just--" He throws his free hand out. "Don't give up. I'll be back."

Getting caught destroying evidence will ruin his life, but there's not much life to be lived with an estranged soulmate.

He turns to move and is stopped by their still conjoined hands. He stares at them, aware Hannibal is watching him just as intently with that same, carefully blank expression, but it's begun to crack. 

"Will." Hannibal says suddenly, as their fingers slide apart. "You choose me?"

He wants to smile, to reassure him, kiss him, but he can't find it in himself, anymore than he can think of some poetic, succinct statement to rattle off like a film trailer. He only says, "There is no choice." and curls his fingers into his palm.

_Because how could I choose anything else?_


	4. All in meekness yield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Prompt:](http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/1847.html?thread=1406519#cmt1406519) Will is an alpha, but he's socially awkward and gets anxious around other people and is a neurotic empath. Hannibal is an omega with a domineering personality (to the point everyone thinks he's an alpha) who is secretly a serial killer and has a habit of eating people. Will doesnt know what to do when Hannibal starts to pursue him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Blue Pail Fever by Woven Hand.

"You don't take suppressants?" It's the twenty-first century, for crying out loud.

"I do not believe it could be healthy for me to repress my body's natural cycles." Is Hannibal's unperturbed reply. He sits serenely, but Will can feel the discontent welling up in him beneath a layer of will. "My true heats come perhaps annually, more often every eighteen months. They are predictable, and not so much trouble."

"Let me guess, you're coming up on the eighteen month mark." 

"That's a 'guess', is it?" Hannibal's eyes gleam. 

No, it's not. Will can't smell him yet, he's not that far along, but far enough that Hannibal pings some half-vestigial alpha sense. 

"No." He says roughly, hands fisting in his lap. "It's not."

*

Will is an alpha. 

Most people are surprised when they find out. He's not what Hollywood would have the masses believe an alpha could be: emotionally unstable, average height at best, most generously described as 'scraggily', etcetera. He's never been with an actual omega before, another fact that is nearly enough to invalidate his alpha card, like being the only virgin on the football team in the most John-Hughesian high school of the American Midwest. 

He feels little desire, no breeding urge. He sometimes feels that his senses must have atrophied, though the educated man in him knows it's just in his head. 

Until the day he catches a whiff, and knows he must be losing it in a whole different way, because he thinks that flash of _omega_ came from Hannibal Lecter. 

* 

"But why _me?_ " Will says, getting to what he believes is the primary concern here. "I mean, I--"

He holds out his hands to demonstrate the fine tremor that usually shakes them, only now they are stubbornly still. His entire body is tense, too-aware of Hannibal's progressing state.

"--I'm not exactly a catch." He finishes lamely, heavy on the sarcasm. "I can't--provide for you--"

"I provide for myself."

Will isn't imagining a hint of smugness about that closed-lipped smile. He laughs, surprising himself.

"Yeah, okay. But still. Me? Really?"

Hannibal shrugs. "It is my choice."

*

He doesn't catch another scent, but now that he looks, he sees more--signs. Hannibal _is_ submissive, but in such a subtle way that no one notices. He placates Jack with bared wrists and downcast eyes, sidesteps Will himself with craftily constructed comments that raise thought without obviously challenging. 

Now that he's finally noticed, Will watches with something akin to awe. Hannibal is like an elaborate, one-man act, the perfect omega, aware of everything and able to manipulate almost any situation unnoticed, to cool tempers and encourage cooperation. 

Not only that. He pulls it all off so elegantly, he leaves the impression of an alpha of immeasurable strength.

Watching, Will licks his lips, and his hands go still.

*

"What do you want from me?" Will asks. He feels played and at a loss, quickly bowing to his desire and Hannibal's argument, his enticing collectedness and confidence. The alpha in him roils, angry at the manipulation, but he forces it down. "Children?

"Perhaps, but unlikely. Your permission, Will?"

He says it simply, like a casual question rather than a declaration of intent to pursue.

Will is stunned. But then he thinks about it. 

To possess an omega like this. Will's mouth waters. He knows that _he_ will more likely be the one possessed, between themselves and in the eyes of all others. He doesn't mind the idea, having never been overly concerned with alpha pride. 

"Permission?" Hannibal prompts with affected shyness, peering through his eyelashes. Will rolls his eyes and continues to think. 

He never thought that word, with that meaning, would be directed at him. He's allowed to marvel for a moment.

"Granted." He says finally, clearing his throat. 

It's a surrender, and they both know it. There's no chance that Will will make it through this courtship without a mate unless Hannibal suddenly changes his mind and cuts him loose.

Hannibal radiates pleased-omega in gentle waves, and Will's hackles lower despite himself.


End file.
